President Trump addresses nation after mass shooting at Florida SchoolWhite House

A week later he is struggling to find an emotional foothold. He knows there's an investigation into the Rec and Park worker, Thomas Burnoski, who allegedly ran over his wife a week ago Thursday. But it's not something he wants to address. Instead, he's focusing on how to make it through each day, how to honor his wife, how to be a single father.

"Someone told me that grief is really chaotic and never what you expect," he said. "One moment I feel OK and then it just washes over me. I feel like I am in this dream state. Everyone feels the need to do something and there's nothing to be done."

His natural tendency, he admits, is to withdraw. But that day, standing next to Christy's body at the hospital, he made a decision.

"I've always been kind of reluctant to share my feelings and thoughts," he said. "I don't know why. But I kind of made a promise to her not to be a hermit but to open myself up. When I saw her lying there, I felt an immediate need to open up my heart to the world. I think it makes all the difference to talk."

There are a few things he wants to say. First, the outpouring of support has been overwhelming.

"I have felt completely held and loved by everyone, from family and friends to total strangers that have cooked us meals and donated breast milk," he said. "I'm experiencing a strange blend of total loss and total gratitude."

And second, he's moved beyond the blame and anger.

"My wish would be to say something beyond that this is so shocking and how can this happen," he said. "Some things seem terribly unimportant right now, but I want to be sure whatever I do from here has value and meaning."

It will take time. Minor day-to-day adjustments unexpectedly lead to deep emotional depths.

"If the dog has to go out and my baby daughter is crying, I'm not sure how to manage," he says. "I feel like before this happened, we'd figured it out. We'd found a rhythm and a way to work together that was harmonious and sweet. I relied on her for so many things."

Vegar and Christy seemed like an odd couple. She was a vivacious, outgoing West Virginian who earned multiple college degrees, trained life coaches and belonged to an African dance group. He was a reserved transplanted Norwegian.

But they clicked from the moment they met in Salt Lake City, where they were studying Zen Buddhism. Characteristically, Christy invited herself to share a bench with Vegar.

Her first words were: "You're a serious guy, aren't you?"

"I am," he replied.

"Well, I'm not," she said.

And they were off. Christy worked for a company in the city that trains life coaches, commuting back to Salt Lake to be with Vegar. Vegar found a job with Christy's firm and about a year ago they were able to move to San Francisco.

"We were always drawn to this area," Vegar says. "To live here felt like coming home."

They especially loved sitting on the grass under a tree at the park. Vegar wonders if that feeling will ever return.

"I went to the park the other day and I noticed a couple lying there," he said. "I felt so scared for them."

He didn't speak to them, but he did have something to say.

"In our daily routines we get caught up in drama and boredom," he wrote on his Facebook wall. "But maybe you can take some time to appreciate the people next to you."

Because he knows they could be gone in the flicker of a sunny afternoon.